


The Robin

by mochisquish



Series: Conquer [2]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochisquish/pseuds/mochisquish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron takes Sam under his wing, teaching lessons one can only learn in a sparring match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Robin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wtb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtb/gifts).



Sam wasn’t new to conflict and he wasn’t new to fighting, but he _was_ new to the impossible.

They’d been doing this long enough he could sense when the gravity would invert and if he didn’t sense it, his warning was Tron dashing like a hellhound towards the nearest wall. When the Program made it halfway up the slick surface, Sam audibly groaned, and then limbs flailed as he was lifted skyward and slammed into the ceiling.

It hurt every time, though he braced himself, tried to roll, hit first with his ass instead of his head. A black figure bolted forward and Sam scrambled to his feet, barely ducking a kick to the face. Tron’s roundhouse sliced the air with a whistle, forcing Sam’s arm out to deflect the blow. The man was lithe but powerful and when he struck it was like being sideswiped by a tree. Pain dripped down Sam’s forearm and seeped into his bones and he cringed – couldn’t stop a heel from plunging into his abdomen, knocking breath away and sending him skidding to the floor.

Tron was always silent, no grunts or war cries, and even now as he approached, he made not a sound. It was surreal and at times unnerving, for Sam often forgot he was a Program: lines of code Alan spent days typing those many years ago. He was superhuman or a figment, everything Sam wanted to be that wasn’t real.

The younger man muttered under his breath, on occasion carried full conversations with himself during sparring because the silence was maddening - completely suffocating. He moaned out his pain and embarrassment, picked himself up in time to see his opponent fly over his head. Sam whipped around, slamming a leg into Tron’s side. He hit, but not hard enough, and Tron jerked but was otherwise unfazed.

Quorra said he’d come from the sea, reborn, with an energy that sent sparks through the air and jolted her heart, and Sam couldn’t compete with that. It was like challenging Jesus to a resurrection-off.

Tron rose from the dead and still he was fighting, and Sam couldn’t keep up, he couldn’t be that strong, he didn’t think he had that kind of resolve. The Program was a hero, long before he met Kevin Flynn and he would be a hero long after Sam was gone. Sam could accept this if there weren’t expectations, but there were always expectations - that he should take over ENCOM and he should take his father’s place as god of the Grid, and Sam had no plan even though the entire world thought he should.

He felt light and had less than a second to process his stomach jumping through his throat before he was falling again, back to the ground, away from heaven and to where he felt most comfortable.

The gravity trick was mean really, unfair, and Sam had voiced such, but Tron had shrugged his shoulders, responded, “Battles are not fair. You overcome and you press on.” With back covered in bruises and ankle twisted, Sam never found that answer cute or agreeable. He growled, charged towards the other man with rage and abandon, threw himself headfirst into his abdomen and sent them both sliding across the ground.

A fist connected with Tron’s jaw, made the exposed circuits in his damaged face spark. He bore scars like Sam, except Tron received them saving his father’s life and Sam racked his up destroying his father’s legacy.

He landed another, hit the tender area for a reason, made the Program jerk and freeze, stunned. It was dirty, perhaps, but Tron himself said life wasn’t fair and if he lived by that philosophy, then so would Sam.

The third swing, he was caught, Tron’s hand wrapping tightly round Sam’s wrist with fingers digging into the sensitive skin beneath his palm. He twisted under Sam, quickly enough to knock him off balance and to the floor. Tron could have pinned him there and it could have been over, but he stood instead, waited patiently for the boy to return to his feet.

He wanted to keep going, give the User another chance, but it was humiliating to Sam. He didn’t need to be coddled and he didn’t need Tron standing over him silently, body relaxed like he had nothing to fear from his opponent.

Sam spat, “Well?” with arms outstretched to the side, taunting.

Tron’s lips pursed but he said nothing, wouldn’t even know where to begin with the other leaving himself so completely exposed.

Sam came at him, arm cocked back and Tron waited, forever composed and forever patient. At two feet before impact, the Program unhooked his disc, let it ignite with a burning ring of energy. Sam skidded to a halt, legs moving backwards to put him out of harm’s reach. A curse escaped from under his breath as he fumbled for his own disc, and then a very loud and inappropriate, “Fuck this,” when the Program pried his second weapon from the first.

Tron whipped his body around and let a disc fly. It screeched past Sam’s head and he could feel the electricity and the heat, a raw energy unlike anything in the Real World, awe-inducing and completely frightening.

He hit the ground before it came back, got down on one knee to let his own disc soar. Tron ducked the first time; leapt completely over the disc as it made its way back to its owner. It landed in Sam’s hand and his eyes turned upwards in time to see the Program falling from above, a powerful leg ramming into his chest like a steel pipe.

Sam was pressed into the floor but grabbed Tron’s ankle with both hands, rotated his body as he twisted his leg. Tron went down and the discs went with him and he had no choice but to disarm them before landing on top. Sam kicked one away but Tron held the other tight and Sam ground his boot into his wrist as he attempted to pry the weapon from his fingers.

Tron swung his hips up, was able to wrap legs around Sam’s waist as he was bent over and bring him back to the floor. He rose again and waited again as Sam shook the confusion from his head and left sweaty prints on the cool black surface.

Sam yelled, “You don’t have to baby me!” though the irony was overlooked as his limbs ached and skin turned purple under his suit, and he wasn’t certain, but thought he may be bleeding from his eye. He stood defiant even when he felt he didn’t have a chance, and it was what made Sam appear strong when he fucked up and the world crashed down around him. He didn’t have to be good, he just had to keep rising.

Tron stated simply, “No discs,” and threw his remainder to lie with the other across the room. Sam’s eyes followed it, another mistake, for Tron was at his throat in an instant, one hand around his neck and the other pounding into his stomach. Sam gagged and tried to pull away, only choking himself more. He slid a leg between Tron’s and swiped, lucky the Program released him and didn’t pull his esophagus along for the ride.

He came at the User again, with a series of punches Sam outmaneuvered and one that he blocked with the side of his torso. Fingers tangled in the back of Sam’s hair and he was arched backwards while a knee struck his spine. From the left flew a fist into his face, into his cheekbone and pummeling his nose, leaving a spray of blood in its wake. Tron hesitated at the sight and pulled back, but Sam fed off the pain, he loved it, it made him feel alive. He was already dusted in scars that at one point had made him feel alive.

Sam’s leg snapped, straight into Tron’s chest, and was followed by two swings to the head. The Program jerked to the side, neck aching and skin tingling. A foot came at him but was deflected, countered by a kick of Tron’s own which Sam absorbed and wished he hadn’t. It smashed into a bruise received earlier and he let out a wail, and then there was a fist in his solar plexus with the intensity of a hammer, and Sam crumbled to his knees, writhing on the floor.

The idea of a solar plexus was new to Tron but once he discovered the effectiveness of striking such an area, he wasn’t afraid to use it. Any enemy could do the same and so Sam should learn to protect the most delicate parts of his User body. Sam didn’t find that lesson cute either.

The younger man sat on his knees with forehead pressed into the ground, gasping and groaning until Tron snaked an arm around his waist and placed him upright. He patted the boy on the shoulder because that was what Flynn did to him when he performed above expectations.

“You did well today, Sam. I had a lot of fun.”

Sam managed to look up to regard him, eyebrows raised incredulously and mouth open, gasping for air. He waved his hand as if he wished to respond, but all that escaped were broken words like, “hurt,” “fucker,” and “can’t believe…”

Tron cocked his head, unsure how these elements fit together. He dropped down by Sam with legs crossed and hands in his lap, watching as his breathing slowed - watching the beads of sweat form on his brow for it always intrigued him.

Sam swallowed, lips pursing and curling into something akin to contentment, and he didn’t yet speak, but Tron would wait.


End file.
